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Back … forth … back … forth … she sits in her creaky rocking chair pleasantly reminiscing about her lost childhood as she crochets a warm fuzzy quilt for her granddaughter. Out of nowhere her desire to finish the quilt before noon fades and she find her attention drifting towards the window and looking at a giant maple tree bejeweled in sparkling frost. The tree is old and withered, it has aged immensely; it is somewhat like the old …

…rocking in her rocking chair, back … forth … back … forth … with her quilt nearly finished now. Her rocking chair creaks with each subtle movement and eventually the creaking diminishes to a faint sound and finally no sound at all. She had left the world in peace quicker than she had entered it but still much too soon. I guess it’s true what they say about your life flashing before your eyes just before you die.